


Broken Wings

by CaptainTrips



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24907762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTrips/pseuds/CaptainTrips
Summary: Ten years ago, Ned Stark of Winterfell died during the Seige of Pyke while leading his army in his campaign against the Greyjoy Rebellion. Now, dark forces look towards Seven Kingdoms plotting to tear the realm apart in their quests for glory and power.
Relationships: Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Petyr Baelish/Catelyn Tully Stark, Victarion Greyjoy/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	1. Intro

**_289 AC, Ten Years Ago_ **

Ned Stark felt grim. The Iron Isles were every bit as dreary as their reputation entailed and the ongoing thunderstorm did little improve the island’s condition. While Robert was certainly happy battling against hordes of reavers on the shores of Pyke, Ned felt little joy at this moment. After slogging through muddy fields and sheer cliffs, the King’s party had finally arrived at the walls of Castle Pyke, the very seat of the Greyjoy Rebellion. The Castle itself was hastily built upon a series of stone stacks and decaying islands, loosely straddled by bridges of rotten wood. Ned would not be surprised in the slightest if the wind knocked over the castle walls before the siege engines could.

However, Ned needed to remember that behind the walls of this paltry, crumbling castle was the man behind a year of bloodshed, Balon Greyjoy himself. Even as his fleets sank and his lords turned their cloaks, Lord Greyjoy would refuse to accept his defeat, choosing to flee back to his fortress instead. Had he bent the knee, Lord Greyjoy could have easily spared himself and the honor of his family long ago, but the fool he still believed that he could win his freedom from behind his castle walls. Come to think of it, most of the men Ned fought during these past months were fools themselves, thinking that a horde of drunken reavers could defeat an entire kingdom.

It was because of Lord Greyjoy’s folly that thousands of men died defending the realm, giving their lives to fight this absurd rebellion. However, there was another reason why Ned felt so sour as he looked upon the crumbling walls of Castle Pyke. He had just missed the birth of his third child. Like Sansa, Catelyn had given Arya a Northern name to complement her Northern heritage. Upon reading Catelyn’s letters, Ned had learned that his Arya was a restless girl, who would not be soothed as easily as Robb or Sansa. Ned smiled as Catelyn’s stories of Arya brought back memories of Lyanna when she was a mere babe. But Ned knew that it was not the time to think of happier times. He had a war to win.

Ned looked to his men shouting orders over one other as they began to build the machines that would bring down the castle walls. After hours of construction, the siege engines were either wooden skeletons or wooden splinters, knocked over by the storm. As another siege engine fell to the wind, Ned cursed himself and he cursed the dammed weather that befell this dreary island. It was strange for a storm of this size to emerge, especially during the beginning of summer. Suddenly, Ned noticed that his men began ceased construction on the siege engines and began rushing towards the castle. They were all panicking, pointing to something on top of the castle.

Ned looked up to find a black and bloodied figure perched upon the castle walls, like a messenger raven dressed in gore. He did not seem disturbed in the slightest by the archers prepared to lose or the wind ready to knock him down. In fact, he seemed almost serene, swaying as the wind tore at his stained robes. In a smooth motion, the man raised his hands into the air, revealing that he was completely unarmed. A flicker of pale light danced across the sky, and Ned saw a grin appear on the man’s face. Drawn by a strange sense of curiosity and wonder, Ned began to follow his men and walked to the castle.

Suddenly, the man clenched his fists and pointed towards him. Towards Ned. In that instant, a great crack of thunder echoed throughout the air and pierced his ears. His armor began to glow a brilliant white and in that instant, Ned felt himself falling. Flashes of his life appeared before his eyes. He saw Robb proud and youthful with Jon by his side, he saw Arya in Catelyn’s arms, and he saw little Sansa and Robb asleep in bed. As Ned’s body hit the cold ground, every muscle in his body was burning. It was over now, he couldn’t move. As he lay there dying, a distant memory appeared before Ned’s eyes of a woman dying in a bed of blood, with tears in her eyes. _Gods, Lyanna will you ever forgive me?_ For the last time in his life, Ned looked at the sky, before he closed his eyes and fell into the darkness.

**_300 AC_ **

“In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Robb of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I hereby sentence you to die.”

Robb swung the greatsword down and the oathbreaker’s head was lopped off of its shoulders. A torrent of blood then burst from a severed neck as the final spasms of death took over the man’s body. His first time beheading an outlaw had not been easy, but as the years went by, Robb would slowly learn to accept his lordly duties. It was his sixth execution this year and by far, the cleanest one that he had performed. Beheading criminals was not the most important of Robb’s lordly duties, nor was it the most noble, but it was by far, one of the lightest burdens that came with his position.

Indeed, his life had become filled with marriage proposals from the larger lords and resolving petty disputes. Things had only become ever more hectic with the castle preparing for when the King’s arrival at Winterfell. Sansa was delighted as ever to finally meet her golden Prince, but preparing for his arrival had been anything but delightful. But here in the crisp cold air and a sword in his hands, Robb felt as if he could put those struggles behind him and finally be at peace. Here in the woods, there were no squabbles over blood and honor, no more cries of aid from Castle Black, here there was only silence. Suddenly, that silence was broken with a shill cry from the underbrush.

“Did you hear that?” asked Robb.

“Aye,” said Jory, “there’s something in the woods.” Robb’s party stepped into the bushes and found a dead wolf, with maggots and corpse birds picking at its flesh. While little remained of the beast, it was apparent that the thing was a freak of nature with long sinewy legs and a height that could rival Arya’s.

“A direwolf,” whispered Harwin, “No one’s seen a live one on this side of the Wall for a hundred years.” His nose winced as he smelled the putrid scent of rotting flesh “Neither did we, I suppose”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” said Robb. The Lord of Winterfell picked up a grey ball of fur near his feet and held it to his chest. To his delight, the pup began to squirm in his arms.

Jory picked up another ball of fur with white fuzz and piercing red eyes “I believe there are four of them in the woods, my Lord.”

“Four live ones,” mumbled Harwin, “looks like their brother wasn’t so lucky.”

Robb walked to Harwin with a pup in his hands, only be greeted with a terrible sight. A lone crow had one of the pups in his talons, pecking at the corpse’s eyes as the little hound’s entrails hung out of its body. With a wave of his hand, Robb shooed the scavenger away and dark feathers fell onto the wolf’s dead body.

“It would be a mercy to kill the litter right here,” suggested Jory “better to die by a knife than to be pecked apart by crows.”

For a moment, Robb considered cutting down the pups as he did with the deserter only moments ago. However, Robb began to think upon the history of his house and how proudly they emblazoned the direwolf upon their banners. He remembered Maester Luwin’s tales of how the direwolves were once common in the icy forests of the North, as were the great lions of the Westerlands. Indeed, it would be a shame to allow such a rare and helpless creature to die like a condemned prisoner. Perhaps his sisters would even be delighted to raise a few little wolves as their own. It was then when Robb decided what to do with the little beast he held in his arms.

“They won’t die.”

“Pardon, my lord?” asked Jory.

“We will bring them back to Winterfell. We can rear them at the castle instead of killing them here.”

Harwin shook his head, “The kennelmaster won’t like this.”

Robb gave him a small smile, “I’m certain that the Lord of Winterfell can convince him otherwise.”

As he knelt down to pick another pup off of the ground, Robb saw a piece of what seemed to be wood, embedded in the throat of the dead mother. As he pulled the sharp and blooded weapon from below her skull, the Lord of Winterfell found that he was clutching the foot of a stag’s antlers in his hand, clad in bone and covered in snapped tines. _The wolf was likely trying to get some food for her pups, too bad she ended up picking a fight with a stag instead of a fawn._ As Robb’s men looked upon the broken antler he held in his hand, whispers began to emerge from the small crowd.

“It’s a sign,” declared Jory, “a message of things to come.”

“If it is, then we’d better let Lady Sansa know,” chuckled Harwin, “she’ll be wedding a stag, after all.”

Robb silenced the horseman’s son with a disapproving look and tossed the antler onto the ground. As he rode back to Winterfell, Robb began to consider Jory’s words. _If the Old Gods did seek to send a message, what could it have been? Will the Baratheons truly be the end of the Starks? No, it couldn’t possibly be. The North has always been close to the crown since the Mad King fell. If anything, what happened in the woods was a coincidence._ Eventually, Robb decided that he had little time to think of such things. After all, the King was coming to Winterfell and so was Robb’s brother.


	2. Jon I

The trip to Winterfell was long and tedious. Despite the complaints of Joffrey and the Queen, King Robert didn’t seem to mind the muddy roads and the reeking swamps of the Neck. As they embarked on the journey North, his grace had made it no secret that he was eager to finally leave the endless labyrinth of the Red Keep and finally enjoy the open air. Jon on the other hand, felt a strange mix of joy and dread during his journey home. King Robert called it homesickness and often jested that the trip would finally cure him of his brooding nature, but it was never that simple.

On the journey north, Jon would dream of memories from his childhood, playing with Robb in the great halls of Winterfell. But at the same time, he dreamed of the harsh glares of Lady Catelyn and the tears he wept on his father’s grave. Long ago, Jon had come to terms with the fact that he was no longer a Northman, he was a Crownlander, a squire of King Robert himself. And as much as he missed his childhood home, Jon had already learned to put his past behind him. _Sometimes I wonder if my time in Winterfell was ever that happy. I couldn’t have remembered everything from my childhood_. However, Jon’s thoughts would be interrupted by a harsh and familiar voice.

“Snow, what the Seven Hells are you looking at? You look like an ass right now.”

Jon had learned to ignore the Prince’s cruel japes as well, “Just thinking of old memories.”

“Well pay attention bastard,” Joffrey pointed towards a distant town “we’ve almost arrived.”

And soon enough, the King’s party had found itself in the shadow of Winterfell castle. Jon heard a few gasps from the wheelhouse as Tommen and Myrcella looked upon the looming walls and towers that made up the sprawling castle. _I reckon that the Queen would probably say how it’s not half as impressive as Casterly Rock_. As they entered through the gates, Jon could see a man with red hair and blue eyes from a distance, standing next to his family in a neat row. _It’s Robb, he’s grown so much. I don’t think I would’ve recognized him had it not been for that hair of his_. As Jon dismounted his horse, Joffrey rode to the front to meet his future wife while King Robert appeared to be jesting with his future goodson.

“There’s the young lord himself! I hope that my namesake has been doing well!”

Robb gave the King an awkward smile, “I have been doing well your grace.”

The King snorted “Your grace this, your grace that, just like old Ned! You may not look like him, but you truly are your father’s son!”

As upon mentioning the late Lord Stark, the King’s face fell slightly, only to for that grin of his to return as soon as it left. “Now, I suppose you should meet your brother. Snow! Where Seven Hells are you boy! If I catch brooding again, I’ll-”

“I am here your grace.”

Jon stepped forward and looked into Robb’s eyes. _Blue like the sky, just like I remember_. For a short while, Jon stood there silent, unsure whether to shake his brother’s hand or to bow to the Lord of Winterfell. Suddenly, he felt his brother’s arms wrap around him in a warm hug. “Gods, Jon it’s so good to see you.”

Jon returned the hug, “It’s good to see you too, Robb.” Jon then stepped back in shock as he felt something soft rub against his foot, only to find a little white dog attempting to climb his leg.

Robb chuckled as he picked up the pup, “Frost, what are you doing here?”

After his brief encounter with the little beast, Jon gave a bow to his stepmother and kissed her ring. As he bowed, Jon saw a little girl with green eyes hiding behind Lady Catelyn’s skirt. Meanwhile, the Lady of Winterfell herself gave a warm smile to Jon, unlike those feigned smiles that the Queen wore to appease her son whenever she found him playing with a bastard.

“Jon, how have you been faring? I hope that King’s Landing has treated you well.”

Before arriving at Winterfell, Jon feared that Lady Catelyn would loathe his return, but he couldn’t find any sort of loathing on her face. In fact, she sounded rather relieved to see him after all these years. Jon paused a bit before nodding his head.

“King’s Landing is wonderful, your Ladyship.”

Jon then bowed to his half-sisters, who he could hardly recognize. Jon’s only memories of Sansa were that of a quiet little girl who followed her mother wherever she went. Now, Sansa had grown tall and regal, looking like a little queen in that flowing dress of hers. Meanwhile, Arya didn’t look half as elegant as Sansa, nearly tripping over her own gown. As Jon rose, he saw Arya scowl and much to his shock, the young lady stuck out her tongue, if only for a brief moment. _Well, isn’t that rude_? After turning his head away from the crass young lady, Jon finally bowed to the little girl hiding behind her mother’s dress.

As the girl buried her face in her mother's dress, Lady Catelyn tousled the girl’s hair before nodding her head towards Jon, “Alayne, go and greet Jon.”

Eventually, little Alayne would step forwards to give Jon a clumsy curtsy, before fleeing back behind her mother’s skirts. After meeting Lady Catelyn and her children, Jon noticed that there was a certain exception to the welcoming party. _Strange, I don’t see Alayne’s father anywhere. He used to be so friendly with King’s Robert back in the Red Keep._ But once again, his thoughts would be interrupted. This time, by the boisterous voice of his king.

“Catelyn! How have you been dear?” Quickly, King Robert bowed and kissed her ring before whispering something in her ear.

After giving the King a sad look, Lady Catelyn turned to face her children, “Everyone, go and meet with Princess Myrcella. I need to speak with the King for a moment.”

As the Lady and the King left the crowd, Jon noticed that King Robert was holding something in the palm in his hand _. A blue rose, that’s quite rare. I hope that that the King doesn’t try to use it to seduce Robb’s mother._ As he turned away from the pair, Jon saw that Joffrey had been telling Robb some sort of tale about his father or his uncle. Jon could tell as Joffrey had been talking rather with an eager look and he usually did when he told his stories, while Robb seemed rather bored as most usually were when they heard his stories.

“And that’s when the Hound cut the Greyjoy’s hand off and threw him off his ship! That happened Hound, didn’t it?”

Jon looked up and saw the Hound give an unenthusiastic nod to Robb. _Joffrey had always revered his Hound as much as he worshipped his Father. Unfortunately, the Hound doesn’t seem all that eager to hear Joffrey tell his stories again. I should change the subject of this conversation, it’s the only way I know how to get Joffrey to silence himself._ “Err… Robb, weren’t you going to guide us around Winterfell?”

“Oh yes," said Robb "I’ll show you two to the dining halls where you can meet the retainers.”

“Retainers?” Returning to Winterfell, Jon could hardly remember his half-sisters, let alone the faceless servants who cleaned his room and cooked his meals.

“You remember Old Nan and Maester Luwin? I’m certain that it will all come back to you.”

Jon began to remember an old lady in a chair filling his mind with stories of wood nymphs and frost demons who lived beyond a great wall of ice. More often than naught, those tales would be cast aside by a frail balding man who also taught him how to read and write. As Jon reminisced on his childhood, he began to remember a strange hulking man who could only speak a single word. “What about Hodor?”

A perplexed look appeared on Joffrey’s face, “What in the Seven Hells is a Hodor?”

Robb shook his head, “Hodor was a stable boy here in Winterfell. He died shortly after you left, Jon.”

Upon hearing Robb’s news, Jon gave a brief gasp of surprise. Looking back on his childhood, Jon remembered all the cruel jests he and Robb played on Hodor before their father would scold them for mocking a man of slow wit. _Poor Hodor, he wasn’t the brightest of souls, but he was one of the kindest men I ever knew._ Jon began to ask how Hodor died, before realizing that he and Robb had already entered the dining hall. _It’s much smaller than I remember. Probably because I was much smaller the last time I came here._ As the servants prepared a feast fit for a king, the smell of pluck pudding, salmon pie, and beetroot stew wafted across the room. Northern cuisine may not have been as decadent as King Robert’s meals, but it was warm and hearty enough to satisfy Jon's stomach during the coldest nights. A smile appeared on Jon’s face as remembered how he and Robb used to compete to see who was the faster eater during their meals before he heard a sly voice from behind.

“Bring back any memories, Snow?”

A look of surprise appeared on Robb’s face, “Father! Where have you been?”

Lord Baelish gave his son a sheepish grin, “Forgive me Robb, I was meeting with an old friend when the king arrived. I do hope that I didn’t miss anything important.” Suddenly, his eyes turned towards the blond prince standing over him, “And this must be Prince Joffrey himself, I am honored to welcome you to Winterfell, your grace!” Lord Baelish bowed low to the crown prince before complimenting him on how tall he grew compared to the last time they met. _I doubt that Joffrey even remembers him. After all, he hardly remembers what he ate after breaking fast._ Soon enough, Joffrey and Robb walked away to join their families at the dining table while Jon was left to feast with the younger squires.

Royal feasts were one of the many times where Jon considered himself lucky to be a bastard instead of a prince. As a royal child, Joff would only be allowed a single goblet of wine, during public feasts. Meanwhile, Jon could down flagons of spiced wine while singing bawdy songs with his fellow squires. After tearing off a turkey leg from the trencher, Jon looked to the royal family where he found that Joff had already downed his goblet and was attempting to convince his betrothed to give him her share of wine. Jon gave a slight chuckle, before realizing that his meal had somehow disappeared from his hand. Quickly, Jon searched the table for the thief before discovering a white dog beneath the bench, gnawing on a large bone.

“You again?”

The pup whimpered a little before jumping onto Jon’s lap.

“Frost was your name, wasn’t it?”

The pup gave a happy bark and began to lick Jon’s face. Jon laughed, before putting the dog beside him. He then reached into the trencher and tossed Frost another turkey leg, which the little wolf happily caught with his jaws. Jon gave another chuckle and began to rub the pup’s belly, “I have a feeling that you and I will be good friends.”


	3. Sansa I

Sansa never liked large feasts. It was true that she enjoyed watching jousts and eating lemon cakes at tea parties, but as feasts grew long, things became less and less proper. The hounds jumped on cooks, eager for a scrap of meat while the men had jumped on the serving maids, eager for a night with them. During the feast, Sansa had done her best to ignore the mess, finishing her meal like a proper lady and striking up a conversation with her betrothed. Meanwhile, Arya wolfed down a plate of roast pork and mash before hurriedly excusing herself to bed. Joffrey too had grown tired of the feast as well, falling asleep at the table before Ser Clegane roused him from his nap.

Meanwhile, his father had left his family to flirt with the maids and fill his belly with strongwine. Like many young ladies, Sansa never understood why the adults enjoyed drinking something so bitter and tart. Joffrey seemed to notice this at the dining hall and gallantly offered to drink her goblet for her, something which Sansa gladly accepted. She hadn’t gotten to know Joffrey very well but Sansa learned that he was kind, handsome, and courteous, everything that the bloated King Robert was not. In some ways, the Prince reminded her of Father, with his twinkling green eyes and his love for fine wine. And as much as Sansa wished to continue her conversation with the prince, Joffrey had already left for his rooms, leaving little reason for Sansa to remain at the feast.

Now that her prince was gone, Sansa looked to her father, who had been talking with Tyrion Lannister, the Imp of Casterly Rock. Joffrey’s nuncle was a stunted little man with a crooked smile and a head too large for his body. However, Sansa’s father had taught her long ago that appearances were, if anything, deceiving. If that was true for the Imp, then perhaps he was a wise kindly man instead of a lecherous fool, as many imps were. However, Sansa had little vigor left to consider what lay in that bulging head of his and quietly excused herself from the table.

“Come on Lady, let’s go.”

The halls of Winterfell were mostly empty, save Sansa and the loyal wolf that followed her from behind. Sansa used to think that ghosts would haunt Winterfell at night, as the wind began to sound like the whispers of dead spirits. But tonight, Sansa was grateful that the roaring songs coming from the dining hall let her know that she wasn’t entirely alone. As she passed through the godswood, Sansa turned her head and saw a scrawny little girl kneeling before the weirwood with a dagger in her hands. That best not be who I think it is.

“Arya? Is that you?” yelled Sansa.

Quickly, the girl turned around assumed a fighting stance, “What are you doing here, Sansa?” Arya began pointing the dark blade towards her sister as her face crumpled into her signature scowl. 

“Arya! Put that thing away before you cut yourself!” It was difficult work, caring for her sister, but Sansa had learned that while mother was away, she would often need to keep her eye on Arya, lest she give herself cuts or scrapes. Today, Sansa had forfeited her duties as a sister to spend the day with the Princess and Alayne. And without Sansa watching over her, Arya had somehow managed to get her hands on something that could cut her eyes out if she wasn’t careful. “Besides, where did you even get that thing?” asked Sansa.

Arya raised her chin, “This thing is named Meraxes and you best respect it! The King gave it to me after I told him that Mother wouldn’t give me a dagger like the one he had.”

“You named your dagger after a dragon?” Sansa didn’t enjoy reading about history as much as Arya did, but she could still remember the name of Queen Rhaenys’ dragon.

“The handle’s made out of dragonbone and the blade is Valyrian steel, two of the rarest things on the planet. Also, Father said that I can keep it, so you can’t take it away from me!”

Sansa raised an eyebrow in response, “Was he drunk when he said that?”

Arya sheathed her dagger and gave a smug smile, “Maybe.”

Sansa responded with a weary sign. Whenever Mother was cross with Father, he would always give her vague and playful answers before Mother’s frown turned into a smile. Arya had learned to do the same whenever she broke something in the castle by accident. While the method did soothe Mother’s temper from time to time, Sansa could only scoff at Arya’s constant misdeeds.

“Why aren’t you at your room, Arya?” asked Sansa, “You left the dining hall an hour ago.”

Arya scoffed, “You should’ve left too. I don’t see what you could possibly want there.” Arya’s scowl then turned into a sly grin “Besides your little princess, of course.”

Sansa clenched her hands into fists as her face contorted into a frown. While knitting with the Princess, her sister had japed that Prince Joffrey looked less like a prince and more like a princess, with his full lips and his long curly hair. Arya’s japes had earned a few titters of laughter from Myrcella but deep down, Sansa wished that she could smack Arya’s head for mocking her betrothed. 

“You know Arya, when we go to King’s Landing with Father, you’ll need to learn manners.”

At the very mention of King’s Landing, Arya began to scowl once more, “Do you know why I was here Sansa? I was praying to the Old Gods that I wouldn’t have to leave Winterfell! I was praying that I wouldn’t have to spend the rest of my life next to you and that idiot Prince!”

In that moment, something seemed to click in Sansa’s head, “You’re afraid,” she realized, “You’re afraid of leaving Robb and Mother.”

“I’m not afraid!” screamed Arya, “I’m not a baby Sansa, so stop treating me like one!”

“Sansa, what’s going on?” Sansa turned around and saw Alayne behind her. Alayne’s eyes were red and filled with tears, running down her face and chin.

Sansa stepped forwards and picked up her youngest sister, “Alayne, what happened to you?”

“I couldn’t sleep, I had a bad dream.” 

“It’s alright Alayne, I’ll tuck you into bed.” Sansa began walking to her sister’s room, but not before giving Arya a disappointed look. Like her mother and father, Alayne had never could stand the cold, so she took one of the warmest rooms in the castle. The floor was warmed by the hot springs below Winterfell, much to the delight of Lady, who began rolling around on the warm floor. Sansa set her sister upon her bed and began to tuck her in. 

“Sansa, are dreams real?” asked Alayne.

Sansa gave a sad sigh, “You already know the answer to that.”

Alyane began to hug her pillow, “Well this dream felt real, Sansa. I remembered everything.”

Sansa gave her sister a concerned look. Alayne’s nightmares had become more frequent as of late, greatly worrying Mother and Father. Sansa held her sister’s little hand and asked her a question. “What did you dream of?”

“I dreamed that I was in the woods and I saw three stags fighting each other. They all died.” Alayne buried her head in her pillow, “There was blood everywhere, Sansa. It was scary.”

Sansa began to stroke her sister’s hair, like Mother did when Sansa was as young as Alayne, “It’s alright Alayne, it was only a dream.”

“No, it’s not alright,” whimpered Alayne, “there was blood everywhere. The trees were bleeding, the ground was bleeding, the air was bleeding. Everything was bleeding. Everything except for me.” Sansa felt her sister clench her hand. “Sansa, can you stay here? I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Sansa nodded her head, “All right Alayne, but just for tonight.” Sansa took a pillow from the bed and began to lie down on the floor. The hard stone floor felt uncomfortable on her back, but the warmth from the hot spring managed to ease the aches. Sansa felt Lady curl up by her side and heard her sister’s soft snores echo throughout the room. As Sansa drifted off to sleep, she began to dream of Joffrey’s smile, Arya’s scowl, and King’s Landing. And then, she dreamed of blood.


End file.
